


i met you in the dead of winter, i stood stranded in the water

by Hellozombies



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Declarations Of Love, Fluff, M/M, Tropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-12-13 16:54:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11764290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hellozombies/pseuds/Hellozombies
Summary: 64 Oak Square Ave, Boston, MA1-(304)-574-988711:38am





	i met you in the dead of winter, i stood stranded in the water

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this as a living love letter to all the Lip/Speirs stories I have read. If you are reading this, stop and read all of them first. It's the best way to spend an afternoon.
> 
> ***This story is not serious, it's not even really set in the 1940s. It is what it is. The only warning I'll give you, is that I might have abused the use of the comma too much.

_i met you in the dead of winter, i stood stranded in the water_

 

Speirs was running before Winters finished yelling. Smoke shot into his lungs, as he dodged every shell coming close. He only thought of getting to his objective. He knew what needed to be done.

Relieve Dike. Get Easy Company moving. Keep running.

 

*

 

Speirs had never shared a space with anyone like First Sergeant, no, _Second Lieutenant Lipton_ before. Speirs felt off balance by him. Like Lipton was a variable that Speirs couldn't find the answer to.

Speirs had felt comfortable by knowing the cause and reaction of war and what it turned men into. Some had burnt out, from being forced to run constantly in war's wheel, some had excelled to the point that the wheel was forced to keep up with them.

Lipton was hard, kind, judgmental, soothing and a mix of all the good that war could make a man be.

He talked to Speirs like he was a soldier, and like a friend. They had been spending every morning together, Lipton would bring him a coffee, made in one of the shelled out buildings that they would be held up in for the night. Speirs would be out at dawn scouting for any enemies that could find their way in. Lipton always smiled and stayed quiet as they looked around.

Speirs had started asking him questions first. Safe questions, like how were the men holding up? What kind of inventory did they have? What did he think about this intel?

He started to ask him more personal questions on the eighth day Lip had brought him coffee. Ron wanted to know why he did it and why he stayed with him every morning. When he managed to ask the first question, a few coffees later, Lip had joked, "no one except for you will drink my coffee, they said we can use it when we run out of lighter fuel."

Seeing right through Ron, like usual, Lip had then said "Being out here with you is the easiest part of my day." Lip had smiled at him again, and they had said nothing for the rest of the morning.

 

*

 

Ron was leaning on the window, cigarette in his lips. He was staring out the window at nothing, it was too dark to see anything outside. There was a small light dimmed low in the corner of the room. Ron's hair was exactly the way it always looked, but his collar and shirt were skewed like he tried to unbutton it and lost interest. He took the cigarette out his mouth to take a drink out of his glass that was in his other hand.

It hadn't been his first.

"What happened?" Ron had turned away from the window and focused on Carwood. His face wasn't emotionless anymore, his eyebrows scrunched together in concern.

Carwood had been drinking whatever the guys had been putting in his hand. He didn't have it in him to fight their playfulness. If getting Lip drunk kept those grins on their faces, Carwood would keep drinking each drink. He hadn't seen them this happy in what felt like a different life.

Ron had stepped closer when Carwood had said nothing. "What?" Carwood asked, not remembering the question. It made Ron pause, taking in that Carwood was drunk.

"Your lip." Ron was smiling indulgently.

Carwood let his eyes fall down to Ron's lips. Ron was stepping closer, slowly, not like Carwood was something that could be spooked. He was moving with a confidence that he knew Carwood would stand his ground.

"What happened to your lip?" Ron asked again, putting his thumb under Carwood's bottom lip, wiping away some of the blood. Carwood would have laughed if he wasn't so busy focusing on the feeling of Ron's hand on him.

"Arm wrestling, with fists." Ron laughed hard, not taking his hand off his face. Carwood smiled, enjoying the moment. Ron moved to take Carwood's face into his hand. He still had his glass and cigarette in his other. He looked like he would drop them without a moment's notice. Carwood took his glass, drained it, and took a few drags of the cigarette before handing back.

Ron stared at him, looking at him like he didn't believe his eyes. Carwood was going to joke about it. _I'd have you know, back home I can drink anyone under the table-_

Ron was kissing him, gently, mindful of his lip. Carwood pulled back slowly, dizzy, and not really surprised. They were building up something since their early quiet morning watches alone together. They had been in no hurry to put a name on it or to make it into something more. Ron was his superior officer. They were in a house, that wasn't abandoned by choice. Nothing he was wearing or in his pockets were owned by him. They were both Army property. They were still here for one thing, and one thing only, to see that their men stayed alive.

He was his own man also, his choices were his own, and no one would take that away from him. Not the Army, not Ron, not even his men.

"No." Carwood said, pulling away farther and rubbing a hand over his face. The same side that Ron had been touching. "Not now," he continued, not understanding the look on Ron's face. It didn't help to clarify it.

Ron looked at his glass, empty on the table. He put his cigarette out, grabbed his pack of cigarettes and lit another one. "What did you come here for?" Ron didn't turn back to the window, but he clearly wanted to. Carwood had made him uncomfortable and he knew that it wasn't because he had told him no. Ron wasn't that type of man.

"I wanted to see you." He said, honestly. There was no reason to ever not tell him the truth. Ron had looked back at him smiling, before looking down at his hands. It wasn't disappointment Carwood had saw, it was loneliness.

Carwood's next thoughts tumbled out of him before he could make sense of it, the look on Ron's face unhooked a gate of feelings that were now rushing out of his mouth for freedom. "You know by no I meant not now, and by not now I meant when we aren't here. I want to have a go with you, and not just in a sexual sense, but I would really like that too, but I want to start it when we don't have our responsibilities." Ron held his cigarette loosely in his hand. He had the same look of disbelief from when he kissed Carwood before. He smiled when Carwood was finished, it slowly becoming wider. He looked like he was in love with Carwood.

Carwood took two strides to the window and kissed his mouth. It was rougher than before, Carwood going in harder with almost desperation and Ron taking it in. Ron pulled back reluctantly, he still had that cigarette in his hand. Carwood took it and stubbed it out in the ashtray. Ron put both his hands on Carwood's arms, just above the elbows, thumbs moving up and down. "Lip, you are giving me some difficult signals to interpret right now."

"Carwood."

"That isn't helping," he laughed. His face turned serious, like he was already sober. "You want a relationship with me after the war is over," he looked over at his glass again.

"Yeah." Carwood stood there loose and happy, partly from the alcohol, partly from the way Ron had smiled against his lips while he was kissing them.

"But not right now." Ron stated, like he was listing off places on a map. Carwood was not offended by an emotionless Ron. He was drunk and in love.

"Sir, we are both drunk and still in a war. I don't want us to be a product from it. I want us on equal footing and somewhere where we aren't in a stranger's house. I kissed you right now, because you looked at me like you loved me, and I just." He trailed off, not knowing what to say next.

"Ron." Ron was looking at him, with a soft look, Carwood knew now that he understood.

Carwood laughed, and hauled Ron on the bed. "Mixed signals," Ron joked as he pulled Carwood to his chest. Carwood knew that both of them wouldn't be sleeping in the same bed that night. He knew they wouldn't mention it tomorrow or the days after. He was content enough for it to play out on it's own.

It would play out in an address, that Ron had slipped into his pocket, which Carwood had found on his way back to America, heading home.

_64 Oak Square Ave, Boston, MA_

 

*

 

_i see you hidden in the night I found you, i see you separate from the others_

 

 

Ron had written to him once. He called him dozens of times, though. Their calls had lasted ranging from twenty seconds to a memorable two and a half hours.

Carwood knew he was waiting, that he looked like he was waiting. Anxiety, they had called it. They took one look at him and said he needed to talk out what he was thinking.

Carwood knew he wasn't the same man he was when he left. He knew the way he sometimes jumped out of sleep, waking up falling off the bed, was not normal behavior. He had told no one about Ron, wanting to keep it close to his chest, like the address Ron had squirreled away in his pocket.

Depression, another doctor had said. PTSD, a few more said.

He went to the appointments, said what he wanted and that was that. He knew he didn't have it as bad as some people he knew coming back from the war. He started telling that to his mother, but stopped when she had that look on her face. He knew she watched the reports on men coming back and losing their minds. How they saw another reality while they were awake. Did things they would have done in enemy territory, but never friendly. He had grabbed her hand and said, "Mama, I'll keep going until they say they don't want to see my face anymore. Of course." She had smiled, relieved, squeezing his hand back.

He had told Ron these things, while he was sitting on the porch, enjoying being outside. He had nothing particular to do that day. It was one of their longer phone calls, Ron calling early, before he had to start his day.

"I think it's a good thing," Ron had said, making Carwood laugh in disbelief. "I wouldn't pick you for a man comfortable with talking about his feelings." Carwood joked, while he moved the phone to a different ear. He thought about lighting a cigarette, clicking the stolen lighter gifted from Ron open and shut.

"It's good when it gets me what I want." Ron sounded so sincere that Carwood wished he could pull Ron through the phone to be sitting next to him. "I, like your mother, want you to be healthy. Or whatever the white coats decide that healthy means." Ron continued, he paused and let out a long breath. Carwood knew he had just lit a cigarette. Carwood pulled his pack closer.

"You know, they don't wear white coats." Carwood pointed out, feeling playful despite the loneliness he felt in his chest. "Imposters. Call the police. Their nefarious game stops here." Ron had said it so serious that Carwood felt himself smiling.

"I love you." Carwood said, not caring that it probably seemed like it came out of nowhere.

"I love you." Ron said, sounding like Carwood's thoughts did not come out of nowhere. Like it was always in the air between them and all they did was give voice to it.

"I'll be back in Boston in two months. Do you still have the address I gave you?" Ron said after a few moments of silence.

Carwood sat up, "You should of lead with this! You're done in two months? When did you find out?" He was smiling widely, it had been over a year since he had saluted Ron, Ron had laughed, and pulled him into a hug, before Carwood left him behind.

"This morning. It's why I called you."

"And you let me ramble on?" Carwood wasn't upset, he was confused at why Ron waited over an hour into their conversation to tell him.

Ron had understood, "I like to hear you talk. On the phone, in person, shouting across a bus station, I don't care."

"Do you have a romantic movie obsession that I should know about? Are you going to show up in Boston, lock eyes with me and run to me through the crowds?" Carwood teased, leaning back into his chair. The lighter sat on his knee, closed.

"Only if that means I'm able to see you one second faster."

"That's smooth."

Ron was quiet for a few minutes. "I do want to see you, Carwood."

He imagined the scene of Ron stepping off the bus, Carwood waiting on the side, reading a paper. Ron would smile, and walk up to him still reading the paper. Carwood would look up before Ron got there, and stand up and smile. They would hug, Ron would drop his bag to wrap both arms around him. Ron would take him home, and they would start over what began in that room years ago and over thousands of miles away.

"Yeah," Carwood smiled, lowering his voice. "Yeah. You will."

 

*

 

_i hear it call in the center of it all, you're the love of my life_

 

 

"Do you need any help, sir?"

Ron smiles slyly on his knees, "A good soldier always stands at attention in front of his commanding officer."

Carwood laughs and gently touches Ron's face. He rubs his thumb right under Ron's left eye, making a slow descent to his lips. Ron kisses his thumb. He kisses his thumb again, and closes his eyes as he smiles, content.

Carwood feels like a soda bottle, shaken vigorously, building up and fizzing out all the love he has for him. He feels himself smiling widely, unable to hold it.

Ron opens his eyes, looks up, and pulls Carwood towards him. He laughs happily into Carwood's belly. "I'm trying to get you off here." He turned his head to speak, but Carwood could still feel the vibrations of his voice going through him. Carwood puts both hands in Ron's hair, making Ron look up again, still smiling.

"Doesn't mean we can't do both."

 

*

 

Carwood was at the stove making eggs.

Ron was watching him from his chair at the table. Carwood had no shirt on, he had a mark on his shoulder. Ron didn't remember making that mark, but he knew his mouth would line up to it. Ron took another drag of his cigarette.

The window was open, the air outside matching the temperature inside. Cars were driving past sporadically. Ron was quiet, watching the spot on Carwood's hip where Ron's borrowed sweatpants were coming down. Carwood was not a small man, not physically or mentally or even emotionally. He hadn't bothered tying the pants when he put them on, because he had not been planning to wear them for very long. Ron lit another cigarette.

Carwood still said nothing when he put down their breakfast, they had come out of the bedroom late into morning after napping off their post-sex high. Ron had woken up and saw Carwood there and knew he needed him whatever way Carwood wanted.

Carwood had never made Ron disappointed. He made Ron feel a lot of things, but disappointment was not one of them.

Carwood bent down to give Ron a kiss as he was taking his plate to the sink. Ron put his hands on Carwood's ass and squeezed. Carwood moved closer before pulling away, taking Ron's coffee cup with him. He drank the rest of it and set it down in the sink, not bothering to wash it. Ron would have asked why, if he didn't see the way Carwood was heading to the bedroom. Ron put out his cigarette and followed him.

 

 

*

 

"You know, I count all those times you called me as dates," Carwood said nonchalantly as he was buttoning his shirt. Ron had said he wanted to take Carwood out. _Out on a date_ , he had said.

Ron looked sharply at the back of Carwood's head. "Of course you do, so it wouldn't be crazy if I asked you to move in with me today?"

Carwood had turned around and walked to where Ron was sitting on the bed. "Are you asking or stating?"

Ron pulled Carwood closer to him, "Carwood, move your life to Boston, and be with me for the foreseeable future." Carwood pushed Ron down to the bed and fell with him.

"I think I can do that."

 

*

*

*


End file.
